


Small

by TunaCoffee



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Drabble, Emotional Hurt, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7855708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TunaCoffee/pseuds/TunaCoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Genji doesn't have words for what he's feeling, but McCree will be there through thick and thin. Short drabble set during Overwatch's golden era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small

“Angie said you might be here.”

McCree’s voice came gentle, lightly from behind him. The smell of cedar and smoke lingered in the air.

Genji shifted, pulled his knees to his chest and tucked his arms around them, a wordless acknowledgement - made himself smaller to accommodate his friend’s presence. Force of habit.

McCree had hoisted himself up onto the shipping container where Genji sat, perched on a precarious ledge that overlooked the Strait of Gibraltar. A freighter crawled across the horizon.

“Mind if I take a seat?”

Genji shrugged, keeping his huddled position.

They sat in silence watching the ships as the sun began to dip beneath the hard line of the ocean, McCree puffing idly on his cigar. He stole a few sideward glances at Genji. He wasn’t wearing his visor, discarded it back in his quarters. He rested his scarred cheek on the back of his hand, brown eyes unfocused and cast a thousand yards in the distance. McCree cleared his throat and brought those honeyed eyes back to the present, “bad day?”

Genji furrowed his brows, like this was something to contemplate, “No,” he said in barely a whisper. He closed his eyes, “Nothing happened. I am just…” he knitted his brows again trying to think of the words, “it is difficult. The words, I mean.”

“S’alright. Ain’t gotta tell me anything you don’t want.”

Genji nodded, eyes slipping half-closed, tired. McCree felt something beneath his skin, concern, affection, prickling at the back of his neck. He reached out his hand, grasping at the air above the smaller man’s shoulders - all taut synthetic fibre. He jerked his hand back quickly, “I’m sorry,” he felt himself flush, “is it alright? For me to touch.”

Genji laughed weakly, something almost like a sob, his eyes crinkled at the corners in a weak smile, “it’s alright.” Genji leaned into his touch, so that McCree’s hand made contact with his shoulder and slid down his back, continued to hook around his side. Pulled him close. Genji rested his head on his shoulder, feeling somehow vulnerable and safe all at once. He worried about the space he took up.

They stayed there as the sun finished its descent and the sky turned from red to violet to blue. McCree's cigar long since extinguished.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Genji mumbled into the cowboy’s shoulder.

McCree buried his face into Genji’s hair, finally grown to a comfortable length after his latest surgery, “S’alright, Genji,” he breathed, “You don’t have anything y’need to be apologising for.”

Another choked laugh. Trying to think of the right words when all he wanted was to unburden McCree -- _Jesse_ \-- make himself smaller until he disappeared. Make the metal and the memories microscopic.

“S’alright, Genji. It’s alright.”

He found the right word, for now, not realising that tears had slipped past eyes screwed shut,

“ _Thank you_.”


End file.
